Encountering Fate
by DramioneInLove
Summary: A mysterious murderer escapes from the Tower of London and seeks temporary shelter in a young lady's room. Dramione. OS.


**Yes, I'm hitting you with two OS's in two days. No, I regret nothing.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **...**

"Don't move."

She gasped, gripping the desk with strained fingers as her eyes lifted to the mirror in front of her, where she'd been combing her hair. All she could see against the open window was a tall, dark shape, that of a man- that of a man holding a pistol. Behind him, the blue sky and the sheer white curtains flitting in the evening breeze. He cocked the pistol at her, and she glanced sideways. She had her own in the nightstand, barely a few feet away. If only she could distract him-

"Don't even think about it, love," he chuckled, and his voice was deep and amused. "I'd have you dead before you even got your hands on your own weapon, and killing a defenceless lady is the last thing I want on my conscience."

The young woman glared at the dark shape through the mirror, resulting in another chuckle. She could hear movement and shouting on the street below.

"They're looking for you," she realized.

He bowed his head slightly in silent affirmation.

"That means that you're the one who escaped from the Tower of London," she sniffed.

He remained silent, but the slight tension in his shoulders was confirmation enough.

"I could scream," she declared suddenly, still eye-murdering him through the mirror. "They're just there, hot on your tracks."

He chuckled again at that.

"But you won't," he answered, voice low.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Won't I?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "You won't. You're a high-born lady, as is obvious from the state of your home and your clothing, but you are no damsel in distress. You would hate for a hero to come and save you- you want to be your own hero, do you not?"

She gasped softly and this time, turned on the engraved wooden stool to look at him. As had been the case through the mirror, she could not see his features, the late evening light behind him too bright. She could, however, guess the elegant curve of strong cheekbones, the glint in his eye, and the pale silver of his hair.

"You do not know me," she growled, suddenly angry. "Do not imagine for a moment that you can read me so."

She noticed the way his cheeks curved up, and knew he was smiling.

"I'm going to abuse your hospitality for a little while, darling," he drawled. "Until things calm down outside. We might as well talk."

"You will do no such thing!" She glared at him, eyes thunderous. "My father will be in here in a moment. You'd better leave."

He bowed his head slightly at her effort.

"My dear lady, I admire your bravery and your attempts, but know that the one thing I cannot abide are liars," he warned her, voice soft. "Well tried, but do not do it again."

"I-"

"Your father and stepmother just left the home," he reminded her, and she could hear the sly grin in his voice. "I would know since I hopped onto the roof of their carriage to access this room- the sole window in the street to be open at this hour. They turned left at the end of the road- I am guessing that they were going to the Longbottoms' ball. As a lady of age, you would have been invited too- but you have a headache and decided to stay, as I can tell from the scent of lavender and peppermint in this room, which are known to be a pleasant alternative to drugs for such an ailment."

Her jaw dropped as he bowed again, this time in false modesty at his little speech.

"No-one else is coming," he added. "You have retired for the night, so your servants will not interrupt you any longer. You are alone- with me, which is a good thing if ever someone dangerous attempts to steal into your chambers through that open window."

She could not help her traitorous lips from twisting into a smile at that, and hated that he seemed to smirk right back.

"Will you cause me harm?"

"I have never lain hands upon a woman, and do not intend to begin doing so today."

"What is your name?"

She knew he was grinning again, and that he wouldn't answer. With a sigh, she continued,

"Fine! What were you in the Tower of London for?"

He cocked his pistol at her slightly, before answering,

"Murder."

She inhaled sharply, before shaking her head, her riotous curls bouncing about her pale shoulders. She suddenly remembered that she was wearing nothing but a sheer muslin nightgown, and that he could probably see right through it. With a squeak, she pressed her hands to her breasts.

"A pity," he sighed. "Nothing to be ashamed of, love- you are hardly responsible for me seeing them."

"Hardly?" she scoffed, outraged. "I am not in the slightest responsible for you seeing them! Who climbed through my window?"

"Who left the window open in the first place?"

"Cad!"

"As you will, love."

There was a short silence, then he suddenly moved, swift and silent as a shadow. She didn't have time to react before he was pressing into her hand a silk coat that she had left on her bed. Surprised into silence, she slipped her arms into it and finally covered herself before glancing up at him. He hadn't moved from in front of her, his features still shrouded in the darkness, and his pistol was held lazily in his hand, as though he didn't think her threatening. Her breathing hitched as he reached out and tugged on a random curl of hers, running it between his fingers slowly and silently. Maybe, if she could distract him in such a fashion, she could grab the pistol and turn the situation around...

She hesitated for a moment too long, as he murmured thoughtfully,

"As soft as silk..."

Then he let go and took a few steps back, allowing her to breathe once more. He then comfortably, without asking permission, slumped down on the bed, careful to keep his face in shadows, lounging around as if a king. She touched the curl he had fondled absentmindedly, and noticed how elegantly depraved he looked.

"As I said earlier," he started, cocking his ear towards the window again, "we might as well pass the time. They're still there."

She shrugged and she could almost hear his eyeroll.

"Come now," he stated, "I am most certain that the Lady Hermione Granger has great feats to speak of, and great conversation to have."

She jumped in her seat, startled.

"How did you-"

"Your initials are engraved on your hairbrush," he answered, nodding towards the desk. "There are only two ladies with the initials HG in London- Helvina Greengrass and Hermione Granger. Given that the Lady Greengrass is over seventy, I will go for the second option. I have heard that you are of great intelligence, and that your conversation is most entertaining."

She pursed her lips.

"And what of your own name?"

"What would it change that you knew my name, love? I am but a murderer escaped from the Tower."

"A murderer with manners and conversation, despite the fact that you call me love, which is most unnecessary, and that you broke into my bedroom," she noticed, eyes narrowing. "You are no slumboy yourself, and the Tower of London hosts two types of prisoners- the most dangerous men of the nation, and nobility."

He chuckled, and the sound somehow warmed her heart, reminding her of spiced wine and roasted pears.

"How do you know I am not one of the most dangerous men of the nation, _love_?"

"Maybe you are," she admitted, "but I somehow doubt that. You sound vaguely familiar, as though we've already met. Have we?"

He didn't move, and she sighed.

"I will take that as a yes."

"Sometimes, the most dangerous of men and noblemen are one and the same," he warned her. "I was imprisoned for murder, love, and let me tell you something- I am _not_ innocent of that charge."

She shivered slightly before answering,

"Yet somehow, I know you will not harm me. I cannot help but feel protected in your company, despite the whole situation- is that foolish of me?

"Yes, it is. Although you are right on one account- I will not harm you, unless given reason to do so. Do not feel protected by me, Lady Granger- I'm not good for you."

There was a short silence, that she interrupted.

"What happened?"

He sighed, sitting up.

"I took justice into my own hands and killed those who were responsible for my mother's death," he answered.

Her eyes widened, but he stopped her tirade to come with a raised hand:

"Do not romanticize such a gesture, Lady Granger- it would do you no good. I am a murderer, nothing more, nothing less."

She sighed again as they sat in silence, then she noticed,

"There seems to be no sound coming from outside."

He smirked, cocking his pistol at her.

"Care to check for me, my love?"

She stood slowly, making certain that he wouldn't mistake any of her movements for something else and shoot her, and made her way to the window, checking the now empty street.

"No-one is there," she declared, turning to face him.

"Good," he stated, rising from her bed. "Now step away from the window, my lady."

She obeyed, letting him pass, knowing that he wished to keep his face from her.

"How do you know I am not lying?" she whispered as he passed her.

He stopped, turning to her, and she could guess the smirk on his face.

"I am a good judge of character," he answered. "Or maybe you were right, love- maybe I do know you."

She smiled softly at that, and stood her ground as he raised his hand once more, gently touching a curl, before his fingers brushed her cheek and cupped her chin.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Granger," he murmured.

"You are an interesting man for a murderer," she whispered in return. "I wish we could have met under other circumstances."

"Fate is a fickle thing, sweetling," he declared softly. "Maybe we will meet again."

With that, he pressed his lips to hers. It lasted but a second, but by the time she overcame her surprise, knees weak, he was gone. Hermione rushed to the open window, glancing around, but she saw no-one- he had disappeared.

With a sigh, wondering if it was all a dream, she sat on her bed, tiredness overcoming her.

…

Hidden in the shadows of the doorway of a house on the same street, the man watched as she looked for him, almost desperate, before resignedly returning to the relative safety of her room. Had he known that she lived here, he would have chosen capture by the guards instead. However, he was surprised, both by himself and her.

All his life he had known her as a shrew, with her angry glares and her fiery temper, and he had hated her just as much as she had him, ignoring her evident beauty in the face of her awful character. Had she recognized him, he would not have made it out of the townhouse alive. And yet, she had not- despite coming close through deduction and logic. As such, he had discovered a side of the young lady he never knew existed- the side that allowed her to romanticize an encounter with a known murderer who had just escaped the Tower of London. Had it been anyone but him, any of the other prisoners, she would probably have been lying in a pool of her own blood by now. He smirked to himself as he thought that he would most definitely force Fate's hand in organizing a new encounter with the lady- as he had wanted more, far more than a kiss.

Pushing Hermione Granger to the back of his mind and his newly-found freedom to the front, Draco Malfoy pocketed his pistol and vanished into the streets of London.

 **...**

 **There you go! Hope you liked it. Given the ending, who knows? Maybe this OS will have a sequel.**

 **Thank you for your love and support, always appreciated!**

 **DIL.**


End file.
